


Welcome to Irony: In Which Dave Strider Belts Out Poker Face In His Underwear

by Waste_Of_Breath



Series: Welcome To Irony [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Hijinks & Shenanigans, Lady Gaga music and hot pink and neon green underwear, silly shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 14:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waste_Of_Breath/pseuds/Waste_Of_Breath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty much what the title says!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to Irony: In Which Dave Strider Belts Out Poker Face In His Underwear

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot explain this. It's 4 am and I'm posting something.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are completely rocking out to Lady Gaga. Ironically. Okay scratch that, this has gone beyond the boundaries of ironic gestures into unironic gestures. You decide to not give a single fuck. Oh look sir, there seems to be a problem. What is it, lieutenant? We have seemed to run out of fucks sir, there are none in sight, they have flown away because they were so underfed and dehydrated that they filled out a hospitality card with “you suck so hard fuckers” on it. If only I gave a fuck, lieutenant.

You are in your hot pink underwear with “SWAGGA” written in caps in sparkly neon green letters. They are atrocious, they are so ironic. They are actually Bro's underwear. You do not have any pants, nor a shirt on, just underwear. And socks. Can't forget the socks.

With your huge set of speakers (that came along with your other expensive dj equipment and other belongings that has to do with music production), you are playing a karaoke version 'Poker Face' and are singing at the top of your lungs into a hair brush. Not just a hair brush. The hairbrush. You don't care to explain who the hairbrush belongs to.

You've had a secret love of Lady Gaga for a while. You're great at keeping secrets. It's both an ironic and unironic love. Bro just listens to the music ironically once in a while. Ironies. You don't have to understand them, you just have to live them. 

You're quite surprised that so far, none of your neighbors in the apartments have heard you because damn boy you're loud as fuck. Not only that, but you have your speakers up to pretty much the max.

You continue singing like a god has just graced the earth within yourself as soon as you hear stumbling footsteps on the stairs. You just figure it's one of your neighbors fumbling drunkenly into their apartment and ooh they just fell up the stairs, from the sounds of it, they fell down pretty hard. You shrug it off and continue to fill the room with your wonderful singing voice.

Wait is there someone outside your door? Nah, can't be. You continue to sing. You don't even realize it but you are shaking your ass and are dancing and probably looking like a complete fool. Sometimes you have to sacrifice not being a fool for being cool. Something's rattling the doorknob. You chuckle and continue, it's probably just Bro. Bro will understand. You've walked in some even more awkward stuff that he had been doing. Some of those things gave you nightmares for years. They still do. You shiver a bit at the bad memories and continue shaking that booty and singing your little heart out. You fully realize whoever is coming in will get a face full of your glorious ass.

It's when the door opens and someone just starts laughing - a very familiar laugh at that – that you realize holy fuck you look like such a dork and maybe you should stop and recons- too late. John is currently roflhfao (rolling on the floor laughing his fucking ass off). He's actually rolling in the doorway.

“ Aw man Egbert, just go,” you say as you turn to him, covering your face with your hand. You have your hairbrush microphone at your side. He finally stops laughing for a moment and wipes away a tear.

“ Dude, that was pure comedy gold. I nearly forgot what I was going here to tell you! You see, Rose is-,” John started to say, but was interrupted.

“ Look dude, if you saw blood in the bathroom, she's just on her period. It's that time of the month for her, she started like yesterday, so now go before I slap you,” Dave interrupted, no amusement in his voice. He knew his stuff. He was pretty good when it came to time.

“ Okay first of all, I don't wanna know how you know, and two, no it's not that. She's gone in complete shock. She won't budge. I may have accidentally submitted some of her smut wizard fanfiction to the English teacher when she told me to email her homework to him,” John explained, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. You stared at each other, grins starting to form on their faces.

“ You fucking pranking genius,” you stated, in which John bowed. He was a fucking pranking master and he knew it, that sly dog.

“ Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week!” John proclaimed, taking another bow. “ So uh, what's going on here?” John asked, a fit of giggles coming up.

“ Irony. Irony to the max,” you answer cooly, pushing up your shades on your nose. John knew he wanted to join in.

“ Mind if I join in on the irony fest? Even though it's not the least bit ironic and just flat out fucking dorky?” John asked, slightly burning you. Oh yeah you have third degree burns from that sick fire he just threw at you. You might need a band-aid for that one. You elbow him and that gives him his answer. You start up your paused music and change it to 'Bad Romance' in which you two belt it out with such a horrible degree of tone-deafness that it's perfect.


End file.
